


Lovesick in Ursa Major

by CathexisArcana



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Erotica, F/F, Futanari, Interspecies Relationship(s), Lesbian Sex, Original Fiction, Other, Plot Twists, Tentacles, Trans, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11725323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathexisArcana/pseuds/CathexisArcana
Summary: After crash landing on a strange planet, an amnesia-struck Rosario is captured by a beautiful but perplexing "female" alien who believes she is an enemy spy. Despite misunderstandings and quick tempers, Rosario and her captive finally find common ground in the bedroom, with lasting consequences.





	Lovesick in Ursa Major

I awoke to the smell of burning plastic and metal, an acrid scent that burned my nostrils. There were other scents, too, but I couldn’t place them. My body was shot through with streaks of agony, and my head throbbed and ached like it was being crushed in a vice. Finally, I was able to unglue my eyes, held shut by blood or crash-gel, I couldn’t be sure. At first, my vision was a constellation of blobby colors and flares of light, but soon I regained focus, and was able to confirm that I was in sitting in the wreckage of my ship, which I perceived had landed on this planet.

No, not landed. My ship fucking crashed, judging by the debris and components littered around this desert valley.

What the hell happened? I had no memory of the event, had no way to know if I was shot down by hostiles in this system or if my ship was struck by debris. Either way, I was in serious trouble, knowing with a certainty, but not knowing exactly why, that no one would be coming for me, and that my ship had no tracking beacon. It came to me then that I must have been on a mission of some kind, something important perhaps, but that vague notion was all my weary mind would afford me now.

I looked around in a daze at the pieces of my beautiful ship, which I knew was named Painted Harlot. Pieces of the wreckage burned quietly, letting off flumes of black smoke, but I was in no immediate danger from those small fires. That I survived what must have been a horrific descent seemed a miracle to me, but not so miraculous that I came through entirely unscathed.

My white, glossy skin tight flight suit was scorched, revealing soot-edged patches of my coffee-dark skin. I touched my face, and tacky, old blood came away on my fingers. I must have a streak of vanity, since I looked in a reflective panel on my console to see if my face had been disfigured. I was relieved to see that I was still quite beautiful. I sensed that my beauty had been useful to me in the past, for more than personal goals.

I seemed to have crashed in a large plain of cracked mud, and in the near distance rocky cliffs rose up against the turquoise sky, which held incredibly long shreds of blue-pink clouds, backlit by a huge, dimly glowing red sun that sank into the wavering horizon.

Only now it occurred to me that the atmosphere was hospitable, at least temporarily, since the entire windscreen of the cockpit was missing, and the visor of my helmet was also shattered, yet I could breathe normally. I took off my helmet and threw it aside, letting my long, curly black hair fall around my shoulders. Unhooking my harness, I crawled from the cockpit on unsteady legs and dropped onto the cracked ground, then collapsed to my knees.

“Shit,” I panted, feeling a wave of nausea. My head must have sustained a hard blow during the crash, maybe a full concussion. I had been close to death, but this felt normal for me, like it was a part of my job.

Was I a spy? A soldier?

I keep thinking past tense, but I still am someone, I just don’t know who.

Ironically, or sadly, I think I was less alarmed at my amnesia than if I had been surrounded by people in a crowded city.

Someone was coming toward me. She approached from my left, picking her way over the rock and debris strewn land with an easy grace that made me envious. As she drew nearer, I saw that she looked like a young human woman in nearly every respect, except for her vividly purple skin and solid lime-green eyes. Her hair, which was braided rather ornately, was jet black, and she wore a black tunic, a belt with pouches around her waist, and leather boots. An oddly shaped object was clutched in her hands; doubtless it was a projectile weapon.

“I need help,” I told her feebly, knowing she would not understand me. But if she was sentient, as I suspected she was, she must be able to guess what I was saying.

I noticed my voice sounded much higher in register in this atmosphere, almost comically so, as though I had inhaled helium out of a balloon. I almost laughed, but I could see the alien woman was in no friendly mood, unless the grim set of her face meant something different in her culture than I would have thought.

“I mean no harm,” I said again in my stupid cartoon voice. “Please!”

I hoped she would be more at ease, seeing that I was like her, except my skin was brown, and my eyes must have looked strange to her, being white with a circle of hazel and black in the center of them. Still, I was a humanoid female, and I expected her to recognize the fact. I had but a moment to feel disappointment and fear as she strode purposefully up to me, raised the butt of her strange gun, and struck me into darkness.

For the second time that day, I awoke in pain, but instead of being confused, I was mad as hell. I scanned the room, scowling, and found my attacker. We were in a bunker, or so it seemed to me, with a long, narrow window on one side that looked out onto the desert below, and the alien girl sat in front of it on a weird bench of some organic, coral-looking material, her green eyes upon me.

“Why the fuck did you hit me?” I demanded shrilly, becoming aware in that moment that my hands were bound behind me, secured to a metal ring in the wall. Whatever my sparseness of memory, I knew I was a person of physical means, unused to being ill-treated without swift reprisal, and my helplessness fueled my anger.  
My purple captor did not respond, but continued to study me, and so I took the opportunity to do likewise. Her features were decidedly Asian, as far as Earthly comparisons go, and she was rather beautiful. If I was doomed to become a captive on a faraway planet, better it be to a woman such as this than a band of unscrupulous men.

She stood abruptly, muttering under her breath, and I noticed in her four-fingered, nail less hand, she held a small, gleaming flat device, which she slapped onto my temple. It was cold, and I felt a needle like pain briefly before it faded.

“Can you understand me, black demon?” She asked, and I understood, although the movement of her mouth did not match her words. I saw that she, too, had such a device at her temple, although it was mostly obscured by her hair.

“Yes,” I seethed. “Why did you attack me? Why make me a prisoner?”

“You are Ereshki,” she said simply, as if that was enough. The translator at my temple let that word go unclarified, and I saw by her lips that it was indeed the very word she had said.

I shook my head. “I am not from this world. Do you treat all who come here in such a way?”

She squinted derisively. “You are a black demon from Goren, a spy to search out the rest of us who survived the war. Your lies will not deceive me!”

“I’m not lying,” I insisted, although I could see my words had no effect. Apparently, I looked enough like one of these Ereshki that she thought nothing strange about me, even as she knelt in front of me. Her presence carried a waft of citrus, so sharp it was almost peppery. I did not know if it was her natural body odor or some artificial scent, although I did not think she would have perfumed herself for my sake. “Do Ereshki have flying ships like mine?”

“Does your ship fly?” she asked with a nasty smile.

I sighed in agitation. “Is there nothing about me you find odd?”

“It is true that you do not look precisely like most Ereshki I have seen, but it has been six years since the war ended, and it is possible you are something they made for this purpose, to hunt alone where they no longer have the numbers to invade.”

“Are you and these others the only kinds of people on this world?” I asked. The need for a translating device gave me a clue, but it was remotely possible they had off world contact, although with whom I could not begin to guess.

She eyed me shrewdly. “You know we are not.”

I thought about trying to kick her, then, but I knew even if I succeeded in knocking her out, I would not be able to untie myself. Instead, I asked, “What is your name?”

“Zitranna,” she answered after a long, wary pause.

“My name is Rosario,” I offered. “I swear to you I am not your enemy.”

Abruptly, Zitranna backhanded me across the face, splitting my lip and leaving my mouth and cheek stinging. “You are not of my people, that you can make an oath to me, demon,” she warned icily. “Remember it.”

In a petty display of defiance, I licked the warm blood from my lip and smiled. “My bad,” I said.

The idiom may not have been understood, for she looked confused, and turned away, walking gracefully back to her strange bench. I took a moment to study the room, which was stocked with crates of supplies, cooking equipment, plastic storage trunks, and other items I did not recognize, nor care to guess the purpose of. From my vantage, I could not see a doorway, but there was a turn in the wall farther down that probably led to one. I imagined we were high on the rocky cliffs I had spotted from the valley.

Now that I was entirely lucid and sitting still, I began to be more aware of my burns, cuts, and bruises that covered a good part of my body. My captive had not bothered to dress any of my wounds. I wanted to point out the fact, but I had no wish to receive another blow; for all I knew, making any request from her might be grounds for further injury, so I sat in misery for what felt like hours, and then slept.

Something tugging at my body wakened me some time later, and I saw through the long window that it was night, and the bunker was lit softly by solar-cell lamps which looked similar to ones that we humans used. With rising alarm, I realized that Zitranna had cut off my flight suit, and was now pulling the last pieces of it off my naked body.

“What are you doing?” I screamed, and my voice was a shriek in the helium atmosphere. I tried to cling to the tattered sleeve of my flight suit by pressing my leg on it, but she easily tore it away with an annoyed expression.

“I am not a savage, that I would let your wounds fester,” she replied. “Nor do I wish to have your rot poison the air of my abode. Now that you have rested, I will clean and bandage you, according to the Code.”

Now that she was doing what I expected of her, I resented her for it, and turned away in a huff, feeling foolish even as I did so. I heard her make an odd, fluting sound, and I wasn’t sure if it was laughter or anger.

“Would you prefer that putrefaction invade your flesh?” She asked, not waiting to begin washing the soot and grit from my skin with a big wet blue sponge.  
Zitranna was very thorough, and I was further discomfited when I found that I enjoyed the contact of her hands on me, though her touch was brusque and hurried. I noticed my mons was quite smooth, as though I had shaved just before embarking on my mission. I wondered if I had often used my body to complete my missions, or if it was merely a personal preference. I studied myself as I was roughly bathed, saw that I was in excellent physical shape, with strong, sensual limbs and a flat belly. Oddly, I wondered if Zitranna found me attractive, as I did her, but I brushed the thought aside as a vain irrelevance.

After she finished scrubbing, she rubbed a black, noisome cream on my wounds and bandaged them with clear, adhesive-rimmed pads, then stalked away, muttering, to dispose of the small mess. I became aware of a burning hunger that grumbled and creaked in my stomach, and I wondered when I had eaten last, or had anything to drink.

“Zitranna,” I called softly. “I am hungry and thirsty…”

The sentence was barely finished when she stalked over and slapped me across the face, which stung horribly because of the bruises which already swelled my cheek. She had withdrawn a knife from her belt and pressed it against my neck, and her eyes were cold. “Devils do not make demands of the Blessed of Kinar,” she told me, and her words held a religious quality which I thought to be more than just idiomatic.

Despite cold fear seizing my breast, anger rose in me, and I pressed forward against the knife, feeling the edge bite into my skin. “I am not one of your devils, and I am not from this planet.” I bit off each word in angry emphasis. “Kill me if you must, but spare me the bullshit.”

One of my words must have translated oddly to her, for she let loose a small giggle, a charming humanlike sound, and shook her head. “You speak like a child,” she said simply, and walked away, out of sight into another room.

I hung my head with a sigh, faintly aware of my stark nudity, and fell into a sulk. I was surprised, then, when Zitranna returned to me with a plate containing morsels of crab-like meat and pieces of some potato-like root, as well as a cup of plain, cool water.

“Thank you,” I said, hoping the sentiment had an analog in her language.

She smiled, and it looked to me to be a sensual, mischievous expression. “You will pay me back,” she said. “For you are worthy.”

Despite my apprehension about her meaning, I devoured the alien food, which was mostly tasty, but with overtones of strange flavors that were vaguely gross to me. The water, too, was tinged with something, but otherwise it was refreshing.

Again, Zitranna left the room, which I now considered to be an observation deck in an old military outpost. There was probably a kitchen, sleeping bunks, and a lavatory elsewhere in the structure, and I wished desperately that I could lie down on a soft mattress to sleep, even If I had to remain tied up. I considered asking Zitranna about it, but again, fear of her stinging rebukes stopped me.

Sometime later, I was close to nodding off when I sensed my captor near me. I looked up sleepily, saw her hair was wet, unbraided, and brushed back, and she had changed into pink clothes that were basically a sports bra and boy shorts, which I found oddly comforting-- probably because it looked like something I would wear. Her body was as shapely and well-formed as mine; it was the body of a capable, mission-driven individual; but I noticed—how did I not before?—that she had no breasts or navel, and with her hair swept back I could see that her ears were fleshy, somewhat translucent fins, with gill slits beneath them where her jaw and neck came together. It occurred to me that her closest evolutionary ancestors must have been primarily aquatic, although I did find it remarkable that she and I would exhibit much of the same physiology.

Despite our differences, I felt a sensual stirring in me at the sight of her, as much as if she had been human, and it was unsettling. It was not that she was an alien, I don’t think, or even female, if I could use the word. Without clear memories, I knew somehow that I had been sexual with both men and women in the past, to equal satisfaction. I think it was that I wanted to hate her for making me her prisoner, for disbelieving me and being so goddamn taciturn, yet I was drawn to her, and I didn’t feel like a dejected prisoner when, by all rights, I should have.

Zitranna knelt, then used her index finger to lift my chin up to look at her. “I do not know if I believe you are not from my world, but I think you are not evil. I am going to untie you, but only for you to repay to me for sustaining your life.”

Ready to flinch from a blow, I asked, “What is it that you want? I have, as you can see, nothing to give you.”

She smiled. “We Uminari believe in the honor of trade; this for that, that for this,” she said, I think, aphoristically. “Even though you are my prisoner, I have given you food, water, and medicine. You must give me something in return. All you have is—“

Here, my translator skipped the word, which I could not even imitate. “I have what?” I asked.

“The word means…your ability to pleasure another,” she answered, smirking. “The worth of your body to another.”

“Oh.” My heart plummeted and rose in one instant. “You want me to have sex with you?”

Zitranna frowned, and I was worried she would hit me again. “That is not correct. You will pleasure me, and if you do it well, I will let you stay unbound.” Then she grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked my head forward roughly. “But, if you try to run away or do me harm, I will kill you. Understand?”

“Yes,” I answered.

Even if I did manage to incapacitate her, I would gain nothing. My best choice was to go along with my circumstances, which were exceptionally odd, but not unendurable. Pragmatically, I tried to quell my indignation and frame my situation in the perspective that I was still alive when I easily could have died the day earlier, and all I had to do now was keep Zitranna physically satisfied until she realized I was not one of her enemies. Certainly, any respectable citizen of the Republic of New York would be aghast to submit to such degradation, but when your life is in the balance, dignity becomes currency faster than you would like to imagine in ordinary life.  
By some means I could not see, she unhooked my bindings from the ring in the wall and waited for me to slowly, achingly get up from the cool, hard floor. I followed her to a clean, windowless, softly lit room which looked to me like it had belonged to an officer or other personage of importance, since it was spacious, had a coral-stuff workstation in one corner, and what I assumed to be a large bed in the other, to which she led me. It was a thick, oblong blue platform that was translucent and wet looking, like a certain Earth dessert, but when I sat upon it, the material was was soft and warm, and did not break up under my 120 lbs of weight.

Zitranna slipped off her shorts, but left her top on, and nimbly took to the bed, where she laid back on her elbows, her legs closed, almost primly. I noticed for the first time she only had three toes.

She smiled at me, girlishly, showing white cartilage ridges for teeth, and slowly opened her legs. “I trust you know what to do, since we look to have all of the same parts, or close enough.”

“I guess we will see.” Nervously, I returned her smile and crawled to her on my stomach until I lay between her shapely legs. The almost clinical feel of the situation so far was not doing anything to override my anxiety, but again, my fear of being attacked for some unknown reason kept me from trying to caress Zitranna, or, god forbid, kiss her.

Although very prettily shaped like the rest of her body, her smooth, hairless sex was not exactly human in form, I quickly realized. She had full lavender lips on the sides, but instead of a clit, there was a crest of soft, miniature tentacle things which reminded me of sea anemones that went all the way down to the opening. These small protrusions were pale pink, but partially translucent. I was not exactly repulsed, but I did pause for a long moment, wondering if it served the same purpose as a clit, and worrying if it would have a bad taste. An impatient, but oddly sexy whine from Zitranna snapped me out of my hesitation.

I stuck out my tongue and licked tentatively, finding the taste somewhat briny and lemony, but not bad, and the soft, bumpy texture tickled my tongue a little. Now that I knew what I was dealing with, I could feel myself relax and some of the tension in my shoulders ebbed away. I pulled myself closer and moved Zitranna’s legs wider apart. With my left hand, I spread her lips, and I began licking her “clit” slowly, one lap following another, just as I would with a human girl. Zitranna moaned and shifted slightly, and I knew she liked it.

After a few minutes of leisurely licking, I gently slid my right index finger into her slick, tight opening, and she cried out in pleasure, a high-pitched sigh that made me think the poor girl had not felt another’s touch in a long time. The thought gave me an upwelling of compassion for her, and even though she had not been kind to me, I did not think she was a bad person, just afraid and lonely, who needed to be close to someone again. I resolved to love her, then, as much as I could, for if I could not leave this planet through force, I would at least abide it by compassion—well, as long as she would stop slapping the shit out of me every five minutes...

In and out I slid my finger, enjoying the sounds she made. Everywhere inside of her seemed to elicit the same level of enjoyment, so it was easy for me to simply repeat the same movement over and over, while still licking her non-clit. With a smile—as much as I could smile at the moment—I thought about how intrigued human men would find this girl, or her species, who required no special skill to bring them to a wet, writhing state of pleasure. I could feel wetness between my own legs, and found myself hoping Zitranna would return the favor, and wondering if she would find me more difficult to please.

After another two minutes, I felt her body tense, then start to shake, and her hands firmly laced themselves into my long, curly hair, and I knew she was there…Zitranna let out a long, keening moan, and a small gush of semi-sweet, viscous liquid poured over my tongue as she came. I continued to lap at her clit, whose tendrils were now giving off a slight glow, I thought, and lapped…and lapped, and after two or three more breathless minutes, my tongue began to ache, and I thought she would never stop cumming, but at least she gasped and sat up, gently pushing my head away.

“Mmmm,” Zitranna announced.

I smiled as I pushed myself up to my knees, noticing her cheeks were flushed a sky blue color—well, an Earth sky blue. “Did you like it?” I asked conversationally.  
She smiled back at me, and I thought she seemed a little sheepish. “It was pleasing,” she replied. “I was right…our organs are very much alike.”

“Yes. Do you, uh, still think I am your enemy?” I ventured.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You have paid for your food and medicine, not for my trust.”

“I think we are having a communication problem,” I said, tapping my translator. “Or maybe our cultures are just very different. On my world—“

Before I could answer, she tried to slap me across the face. I had resolved to prevent such an act, and as soon as her hand flew out, I blocked it expertly and returned fire with a hard right cross across her jaw. I had sensed that this planet was smaller than Earth, by how much I could not say, enough that I was a little bit stronger here than the natives, it seemed. The blow knocked Zitranna unconscious as if I had been a professional heavy-weight fighter, and she a thin-necked, mouthy teenager. Part of me felt bad after I had hit her, especially after what we just shared, but another part knew she had deserved it, and I owed it to myself not to continue being abused.  
Wasting no time, I searched the room for something with which to tie her up, but I had to look elsewhere in the bunker. Naked, I walked quickly from room to room, then went back to the observatory deck to see if she had left my tether near the ring in the wall, but it wasn’t there.

“Shit,” I said aloud, and I turned to find Zitranna leaning partially against the doorway, weakened from unconsciousness, but pointing a small projectile weapon at me.

“You talk of trust, then you attack me,” she panted.

“You tried to hit me for the fiftieth fucking time,” I shot back. “On my world—“and when she didn’t react to my hitherto objectionable statement, I continued, “—on my world, hitting someone over and over is not a good way to make friends.”

“A stranger who makes demands deserves to be struck,” she replied simply.

“Seriously?I can play your body like a fucking instrument, but I can’t make you understand that I want to be your friend!” I shouted.

I think somehow the gist of my meaning got through to her. Even though she was still wary, I sensed that she was beginning to realize that we may indeed be from entirely different worlds.

“You want peace for us?” She asked.

“Yes!” I said, almost laughing from the sheer, desperate frustration of communicating with her. “I want peace with you, Zitranna.”

She considered this a moment, then lowered the gun, rubbed her jaw with her other hand. “You are very strong,” she observed.

“My planet is just dense, like your head,” I said.

Surprisingly, she smirked and motioned me back to her. “Come”

I released a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding, and followed her back to the room with the jelly-bed, as I thought of it. Zitranna put the gun on a side table and turned to me, looking me up and down with a sly look. “Are you ready to make peace, my alien friend?”

Her change in attitude was welcome, but now I had a vague impression of preparing to embark on a strange, and perhaps frightening, experience. The girl’s expression certainly was predatorial enough. Yet, with my renewed sense of anxiety came my arousal, and I could feel the slight slickness of it on my smooth, lower lips. “Yes,” I managed to say.

Zitranna nodded, then slipped her top off, revealing three small, but well-shaped breasts, with lavender-colored nipples and areolas. She did not, however, have a navel.  
Unexpectedly, she kissed me, lightly and experimentally, but in the way I was accustomed. I returned with my own, more passionately, and our naked bodies came together, softly and thrillingly. For some reason, her saliva made my tongue raw, as if I had eaten too much grapefruit or pineapple, but I ignored it. Our tongues came together firmly, and hers was completely smooth and devoid of texture, and I wondered if my own felt horribly bumpy to her, like a cat’s.  
She did not seem to mind.

After a minute or so, she pushed me back onto the bed and hovered over top of me, softly kissing my face and neck, and even experimentally licked and sucked on my hard, tingling nipples, much to my delight. I thought she would go down from there, and I was so looking forward to the feeling of her tongue on my wet, aching pussy, but she arched her back, pushing her hips into me, and I felt something wet and firm against my labia. Startled, I pushed her back and looked down, and a thrill of repulsion ran through my body.

From between her legs, pushing her vulva apart, snaked a translucent tentacle-like organ that was about eleven inches long at first, but it seemed to retract an inch or so at my startlement. “Um, what…are you not a female?” I stammered.

“Female?” Zitranna parroted, and the word was untranslated.

“Yes, the one who makes children,” I explained. “Males are the ones with—“ and I gestured at her whatever-it-was, “the organ to impregnate females with sperm.”

I could see that she was clearly puzzled by this dichotomy, and even a little disturbed. “Oh,” she replied simply. “We Uminari fulfill both,” Zitranna said. “But we decide who will bear offspring and who will sire them. Sometimes both of us carry offspring at the same time, but only for those who are wealthy or have no responsibilities.”

I was not sure what to make of that, at first, but it made sense to me, at least conceptually. On Earth, humans had certainly become more varied in gender conceptualization, but this was something altogether more physical. “That’s …neat.”

With a mildly hurt expression, Zitranna asked, “Do you wish to stop?”

I thought a moment, looking at that curling, pinkish smooth protuberance, looking rather like some advanced sex toy that a rich, lonely housewife would pay over a thousand credits for, and I had to smile. Surely, it would not be much stranger than what I had already experienced, and I imagined I would probably enjoy it, now that the shock of its unscheduled appearance was ebbing away.

“No, keep going,” I said finally, and laid back on the jelly-bed, staring up at the corral textured ceiling.

I felt a tentative probing from her—I don’t know what to call it—her pseudo-cock, I guess, and slowly, gently, it slid smoothly into me in a slow, but relentless feeling, and it felt so strange and so deliciously enjoyable, I gasped without thinking, and a tingles formed all over my body. It filled me as much as it could until it felt resistance, and she stopped before I felt any real discomfort. It pulled out slightly and refilled me, a wet firmness that was not nearly as hard as a man’s cock, but it was so shape-conforming that I could feel it everywhere inside of me at once, an insistent, sliding pressure that more than made up for its relative softness.

I pulled her face to mine and we kissed passionately as her hips rocked almost imperceptibly as her snake-like cock surged relentlessly in and out of my trembling body. I moaned shamelessly, witless with pleasure, and Zitranna whimpered along with me, evidently receiving as much reward from our peacemaking as I was. After a few moments, she pulled me up so that we were both on our knees, she behind me, and my legs were spread apart. Zitranna embraced me from behind, and her wet, warm, organ slid tantalizingly across my anus, then surged into my dripping wet pussy, and it began to twist back and forth at the same time it plunged in and out, driving me to new heights of delirious pleasure. I knew I was making all kinds of whimpers, moans, and even exclamations of profanity, but I had no shame, so lost in the experience was I.

Zitranna cupped my breasts as she made love to me, her fingers twisting my nipples as if she had realized earlier that they were sensitive. I felt her breathe hotly on my neck, then her soft, but springy teeth nibbled at my earlobe, driving a tingle down my spine. That, I think, was what tipped me over the edge I had been slowly rising toward, that precipice of ecstasy all acts of love aspire to reach.

My thighs began to quiver and I felt myself slumping forward, but Zitranna pulled me back, although I felt, oddly enough, her stomach rapidly padding the small of my back like she was breathing rapidly from her torso. A light sweat broke out on my forehead as a thousand points of tingles formed between my legs like an exploding star on my clit that illuminated my entire body with intoxicating bliss. I cried out, a long keening moan, and behind me, almost too loudly in my ear, Zitranna matched me note for note, and a felt a warm fizzy liquid sensation pour into me, and for a brief moment I had a horrified thought of becoming pregnant, but I could not entertain even that wild idea amidst my orgasmic delirium. After what seemed like a lifetime locked in this almost unbearable state, the storm of passion dispersed in a dreamy haze, and I practically fell forward onto the bed as Zitranna pulled sensuously out of me.

“Pax,” I declared breathlessly, grinning. “I surrender.”

No answer came, and I turned, saw that Zitranna was sleeping like a newborn baby, serene and beautiful in a picturesque pose, her triple breasts rising and falling steadily with her breathing.

I laughed quietly, thinking that, now that she was for all the world just a young girl, she had passed out after our joining just like a man would do, had done, to me on occasion. Yet, I, too, was absolutely exhausted, from the exertion of lovemaking as much as from my crash earlier that day, which now seemed like it occurred a lifetime ago. With a dull headache, and feeling my burns and cuts rather unpleasantly, I wearily curled up against Zitranna and fell into a dead slumber.

For the third time in two days, I awoke to immense discomfort. Usually after intense exercise or suffering an injury, the soreness and pain are worse a few days later, but this was unbelievable. I felt like I had the Saturn flu after being in, well, a fucking spaceship wreck, with the added discomfort of a burning sensation between my legs.  
My body was awash in sweat, and I knew I must be running a very high fever.

I managed to raise my head, which felt like a cracked bowling ball, to look around, but I had to lay quickly back down with a loud huff. Just that small motion had nearly exhausted me.

I heard Zitranna groaning nearby, maybe on the floor on her side of the gel-bed.

“Zitranna?”

She didn’t answer, and I wasn’t sure I could get to her.

I took a long moment to breathe deeply and evenly, then edged my way to the side of the bed as quickly as I could without fully depleting myself. After what was probably five actual minutes, I rolled over on my side to peer down onto the floor.

My heart leaped in shock and worry. Zitranna’s once vivid purple skin was now an ashen grape color, and it was covered in some kind of acrid mucus or slime. Her eyes were dull, barely opened.

“I think we made each other sick,” I said. With awful clarity, I realized we were probably going to die.

Whatever pathogens we had shared along with our love last night, they were likely much too alien to our bodies’ immune systems to cope with in time.

Hearing my voice, she seemed to become lucid just long enough to speak. “It was your plan all along, was it not?”

Before I could be offended, she manage to smile wanly.

“Maybe we’ll be ok,” I offered.

“You are a bad liar, Rosario,” she told me.

“I wish we could have spent more time together, now that we are friends.”

She gave me a strange look. “If I could get up, I would slap you.”

I could not help but to sigh. “Why?”

“Peace... must be renewed from one setting sun to the next. One does not presume peace beyond the appointed hour.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmured, and rolled back over.

I never imagined I would die from an unsafe hookup with someone I could never hope to understand, far away from home in a lonely and hostile environment.

Then again, somehow that didn’t seem so strange to me.

I laughed aloud, a husky, tired sound that was more suited to an old woman.

“What...is that...noise?” Zitranna asked quietly from the floor.

“I... was laughing.”

“Why? Are you…?”

She did not finish her sentence, and after a moment, I asked, almost inaudibly, “Am I what?”

“Are...you...hungry?”

I wanted to laugh again, but I could not. I smiled with papery, dehydrated lips, and then my vision turned to a starless void of unending black.


End file.
